


the smell and taste of things remain

by greedy_dancer



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Canon Queer Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Scents & Smells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25538116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greedy_dancer/pseuds/greedy_dancer
Summary: Joe’s senses are nowhere near as developed as Andy’s, but it’s been decades, more maybe, since he got such a pure, unadulterated taste ofNicolo, no products, no laundry detergent, nothing but his skin, his sweat, his breath. It’s exactly how Nicky smelled when they first kissed, hard and desperate and confused, and the sense-memory is so strong that Joe loses his mind a little, going hard so fast it’s painful, pressing his whole front against Nicky.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 102
Kudos: 1046





	the smell and taste of things remain

**Author's Note:**

> "But when from a long-distant past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, still, alone, more fragile, but with more vitality, more unsubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, the smell and taste of things remain poised a long time, like souls, ready to remind us, waiting and hoping for their moment, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unfaltering, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection."  
>   
> \- Marcel Proust, _In Search of Lost Time_
> 
> (The filthier the porn, the more pretentious you're allowed to go with your title, that's the rule, right?)
> 
> Thanks to girlmarauders for the beta and to Castalie for cheerleading!

There’s a lot of things Joe loves about the modern world. 

There’s a lot he could do without, like the fact that humanity seems stuck in a loop of trying to kill itself, which isn’t _new_ exactly, but the people trying to hurt those he loves now seem to have access to previously unprecedented funds and technical resources. 

But it’s not like he has a choice, so most days he tries not to think about it too much and just get on with his life and appreciate the little things: vaccines; personal freezers you can keep stocked with ice cream; good quality lube; temperature control. There’s a lot to like. 

Running water and increased opportunities for maintaining hygiene also score pretty high on his list of Things that are Good about the Future, Actually (Andy.) He’s shared more than his fair share of close quarters with unwashed men, and he can’t say that’s a smell he needs to be experiencing again anytime soon. Shower gel, toothpaste and deodorant? Praise be to God. 

The one downside to this vastly improved hygiene situation is that there is one particular smell that he almost never gets to experience anymore--the very one that hits him as Nicky gets up from his post at the window and stretches. 

They’ve been on a stakeout for eleven days now, holed up together in this empty apartment with no electricity, no A/C, no running water; just their equipment, the bedroll they take turns sleeping in and their rations. They packed light because Andy and Nile were supposed to come relieve them after six, but they’ve been side-tracked, some movement on a trail they all thought had gone cold years ago.

So the recon mission blew past what they had packed for, and they ran out of supplies and clean clothes days ago. 

“Johnson and Silva just took the cars out, should be gone about 20 minutes before anything else happens. I need some air,” Nicky says, starting towards the door. 

He brushes past Joe, absently reaching a hand out to touch Joe’s face on the way, and the way he smells… 

It’s just sweat, Joe knows, nothing special; just Nicky once all the artificial scents have worn off, but there’s something about it that drives Joe wild, a Pavlovian response embedded deep inside him from centuries of running around the world’s hottest places together, sleeping close, sweat pooling between their bodies but unwilling to be separated or stop making more.

Joe groans, hand shooting out to catch the damp back of Nicky’s shirt and draw him near. 

Nicky’s eye-roll says ‘really? now?’ but still he lets himself be reeled in by the shirt, indulging him, even though he hates it when Joe stretches his clothes. 

This place is pretty cramped; it only takes a couple steps for Joe to have Nicky up against the peeling wallpaper. He buries his nose under Nicky’s ear, his lips against the damp skin of his neck, and breathes deeply. 

Joe’s senses are nowhere near as developed as Andy’s, but it’s been decades, more maybe, since he got such a pure, unadulterated taste of _Nicolo,_ no products, no laundry detergent, nothing but his skin, his sweat, his breath. It’s exactly how Nicky smelled when they first kissed, hard and desperate and confused, and the sense-memory is so strong that Joe loses his mind a little, going hard so fast it’s painful, pressing his whole front against Nicky. 

Fuck, they have no time for this, he knows that. They’re way too old to make this kind of mistake, and they’ll be back at the hotel soon enough, where they’ll have time and supplies and--

Joe’s about to let go when Nicky lets out a drawn-out, shaky breath, his hand coming up to bury itself in the hair at the back of Joe’s head, and then he’s pulling Joe’s head back and licking up his throat where the sweat has been running down. 

Oh fuck, yeah, Nicky’s on board. He shifts against Joe, his body somehow tensing up and relaxing at the same time, and really, despite some evidence to the contrary, Joe is only human. 

“Have to be quick, then,” Nicky says, and then he’s moving Joe around, pushing his back to the wall and kneeling in front of him, yanking his pants and underwear off in one efficient move. 

“Come on, then,” he says and opens his mouth, and God, Joe can't believe he get this. 

Nicky’s eyes are straight on his, daring him, licking his lips until they’re shiny with his spit, and Joe can’t wait another second. He grabs himself--so fucking hard already, fuck, it really won’t take long--and pushes the head of his cock into Nicky’s waiting mouth, watching like a hawk for the flutter in Nicky’s eyes. There, just like that. Nicky’s tongue comes up to curl around him and Nicky’s hands grab his ass and pull him forward. 

There’s no point in starting slow; there’s no time, and Nicky wouldn’t let him anyway. They both know this dance, this mood; there’s a time and place for making love but this is plain old _fucking_ , and the instinctive push-pull of it takes over Joe, still as urgent as it was the first times, when this was all they understood about each other. 

The sun’s almost set but it feels like the room has gone up a dozen degrees and Joe can feel his face heating even more, can feel the tickle of sweat down his face, his neck. It’s running down his back, down his torso, mingling with the wetness between his thighs where Nicky is making him even messier, but when Joe looks down he doesn’t seem to mind, eyes closed and blissful, making unmistakable, filthy sucking noises as Joe fucks his mouth in short, sharp thrusts. 

Then, suddenly, Nicky wrenches his head away, leaving Joe shuddering, the air feeling cooler on his wet cock after the heat of Nicky’s mouth, and he’s about to ask if everything’s okay, if Nicky’s heard something, but Nicky’s not getting up; he’s just pressing his forehead against Joe’s hip, groaning, rubbing his face against Joe’s hot skin, against the crease of his groin, the base of his twitching cock. 

Joe knows this, he can tell what’s happening from the way Nicky’s whining and the jerk of his shoulder--Nicky’s getting himself off, making himself come, just from this, a few minutes of Joe in his mouth. Being used for Joe’s pleasure always gets him so hot, even after all this time, and Joe has to stroke himself as the thought races through him, ratcheting up the tension in his body even further. 

He pushes his other hand into Nicky’s hair, grabs it a little, and Nicky whines, the sounds of his hand on his cock speeding up. 

“Yeah, fucking do it, do it for me,” Joe encourages, because sometimes that’s the push Nicky needs to get there, and his hand finds Nicky’s ear, slides over the side of his face, his cheek, and then Nicky shifts to catch Joe’s fingers in his mouth and sucks, his tongue sliding in between them and oh, fuck, Joe’s own hand speeds up, his cock twitching and getting wetter by the second. 

There’s a growl and a bite before Nicky starts sucking again and Joe knows exactly what it means--’don’t come yet.’ Joe knows this, too: Nicky’s got a plan now. 

He slows his hand down, takes a breath. He might be the one who started this nonsense, but he’s more than happy to let Nicky take the lead and see where it takes him, because he knows it’s going to be _good._ His angelic-looking Nicky can be a real demon in the right circumstances, and no one but Joe gets to know it. 

He’s wrenched out of his thoughts by the sounds of Nicky coming, his mouth flooding with saliva around Joe’s fingers, his long, shuddering moan travelling up Joe’s arm and straight back down to his cock. 

Time is running out; they can’t have more than 10 minutes left before their marks come back. Still, Joe waits. It doesn’t take long. 

“Come on, quickly,” Nicky says, and he shifts, still on his knees, kicking off his pants completely and bending awkwardly at the waist until one elbow is on the floor, and oh, fuck. Joe gets it now. 

He scrambles to push his pants down far enough to take one leg out before he falls to his knees behind Nicky. 

“Give me your hand,” Nicky says, and when Joe does, Nicky scrapes the handful of his own come onto Joe’s palm before smearing the rest onto his own hole. It’s filthy. It’s what Nicky planned. Joe’s mouth is hanging open a little with how incredibly debauched it is. 

“Too hot, no time, no lube and we both reek,” Joe chuckles. “Just like old times!” 

“You started it,” Nicky huffs. “Come on, if they get back before you come, you’re on your own.” 

Fuck but Joe loves this man. 

He shuffles forward, rubbing Nicky’s come across the saliva coating his cock. There isn’t much, and it won’t be comfortable for long, he knows from experience--they both do. Thankfully, this won’t take long at all. 

He spits on his fingers and runs them through the come on Nicky’s ass, trying to push two inside at once, and there’s a second when it seems like a doomed endeavour--why couldn’t he wait two more days, and they could do this nice and slow like Nicky deserved, on a bed, with real lube--and then Nicky shifts just so and pushes back, confident and practiced, and they slip right in. 

“C’mon Joe, just do it,” Nicky urges, and Joe’s cock replaces his fingers easily, not like old times after all--their fumblings were never so smooth, not until years, decades maybe of practice, after they stopped pushing blades into each other and switched to other, better things. 

Nicky’s tight as Joe pushes in, and oh, no, this won’t take long at all, not with the way he’s feeling already, wild and out of control; not with the way Nicky’s moving, tensing and pushing against him, taking him so eagerly even though he’s come already, and he can’t be comfortable on all fours like this on the dirty wooden floor. 

Sweat is running down Joe’s nose, dropping onto Nicky’s back when his shirt is already dark with his own, sticking to his skin. Joe grips Nicky’s hips hard, fucks him fast and careless, the way Nicky wants it, fixated on the constellation of moles across Nicky’s skin where his shirt has been rucked up, the pattern he can draw from memory. 

“Do it, do it for me,” Nicky pants, an echo of Joe’s earlier words, and it makes Joe throw his head back and fuck him even faster, deeper, harder; the small room filling with his grunts and Nicky’s harsh pants and the obscene noise of flesh against flesh as he races to his orgasm. 

“You’re fucking me so well, you feel so good,” Nicky gasps, half-garbled with how hard he’s being jostled with each thrust now, and there’s a high whine in the air, too--coming from himself, Joe realizes. 

This is too much noise, they’re going to get in trouble, but Joe can’t stop because he’s going to come, he can feel it, his cock trying to swell even more inside of Nicky’s hole and fuck, Joe needs to give it to him, he needs to push in deep and spend himself inside, and he does, trusting that if Nicky wants to come again he’ll take care of himself because Joe simply can’t hold on anymore. 

He thinks he shouts as he comes, falling across Nicky’s back, letting him take his weight and clinging to him as he starts spilling deep, deep inside, the world fading away for the eternal seconds it takes for his body to turn itself inside out. 

“Disgusting,” he rasps eventually, when he’s got enough breath back to make words. He’s completely soaked, and so is Nicky. He needs to move before they stick together. The sharp smell of come has joined the cloying sweat in the air to form a truly gross mixture, and yet if he could stay just like that, pressed close to Nicky in every way possible… He would. 

Unfortunately, the sound of a car engine comes from outside and Nicky shakes him off, dislodging Joe’s soft cock with a hiss and dumping him unceremoniously onto the floor. 

He’s at the window in a flash, still naked from the waist down, come starting to slide down his leg. 

“They’re back,” he says, and he takes his position at the gun sight again. “Fuck, I _really_ need a shower now, and we can’t get back to the hotel until tomorrow at least.” 

“Hey, don’t blame me,” Joe says. 

Somehow Nicky manages to cast him an annoyed glance without ever looking away from the window. 

“I was going to suck you off and ask nicely for a handjob, you’re the one who decided we needed to fuck in the worst possible circumstances.” Joe shrugs. It’s true. 

“This is _not_ the worst place or time we’ve fucked,” Nicky counters. “And why would I ever choose not to have you when I could have you instead?” and Joe's mind goes white for a second. Fuck if it isn’t one of the most romantic things he's heard. 

He clambers up to his feet, drawing his pants back up. His shirt’s a write-off; he takes it off and throws it at Nicky’s feet. 

“Here, it’s my shift anyway,” he says. “Clean yourself up if you can, try to grab some sleep.” 

He bends over Nicky’s shoulder so he can whisper right into his ear. “I’ll make it up to you at the hotel, clean you up real nice.” 

“Quit your sweet talking and focus,” Nicky chides, but there’s no heat to his words, and just as Joe is about to think of a good reply, there’s a loud bang outside, and his thoughts refocus on the mission, Nicky scrambling back to his side in a flash. 

For now, work is calling. There will be more time for all the rest later. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also on [Tumblr!](https://greedydancer.tumblr.com/)


End file.
